Princeps Tempus
by Mireekian
Summary: A story of forgiveness, of not forgetting, and of taking chances.  [PreHBP] [DMPP] [DMHG] [character death] They were beginning to fall.  They went down fighting.


The first time I saw the bruises, I was struck into silence.

It was the first Friday after returning to Hogwarts for second year. We were just twelve.

He'd reached across the table at dinner the same time I grabbed his arm as I chatted with Milli, and when I looked over to ask him for the salt, his sleeve pulled up and the faint purple marks were just fading. He was quick to pull the sleeve back over, and I felt more than saw his custom glare pin on me. I guess I was too busy staring.

"What?" he snapped.

I only shook my head, numb. I could see in his stormy eyes the first stirrings of panic, but then Millicent Bulstrode saved my life when she asked about the Weird Sisters' northern European tour. It was something I myself was extremely interested in, and I quickly began to question what I saw and fell into denial, so I pushed the incident to the back of my mind and continued where the conversation had left off.

---

I didn't think of it again for another four months. He'd always gone home for the holidays, as nearly all the Slytherins in our circuit do. Usually he owls me, me and Blaise, and Greg and Vincent, but this time he was silent after the third day. I used the floo to wish him a good New Year, but Narcissa, coldly as usual, simply told me he wasn't feeling well and promptly shooed me home. It was weird, though. We grew up together and we always got together on the break, but this time he wasn't going to throw a party?

And Narcissa had never gotten rid of me so quickly, even when (and I admit) I was a little too clingy. She often invited me to stay for tea, during the times he was practicing Quidditch or off with Vincent or Greg. A couple of times she even offered for me to go on ahead to see him when he was feeling ill, which happened often during the summers when we were young. No, that time she just shuffled me back to the floo and sent me on my way.

For the first week after Christmas holidays, he seemed a little out of it. On the outside, he was still all bites and snarls. But on those rare occasions during class, I'd sometimes glance up at him and his guard would be down. He just sort of stared at his paper, then at the slightest noise he startled and started to write ferociously.

That summer I heard hardly anything from him. He acknowledged my birthday, of course, which was in early July, and sent letters often, but they never told me anything. Mostly he just asked me questions and commented on Hogwarts, that fool Dumbledore, the Weasley's, and other topics we already knew everything about.

When we came back for third year, it was like after Christmas holidays all over again, except this time it lasted three weeks. The Hippogriff attack broke it that time, and after that he began to wear short-sleeved shirts. It was a warm autumn that year, I think. When people asked about the bruises those times, he blamed it on the attack. Maybe it was because I knew him better than anyone, but I think that boosted his confidence.

He asked me out not long after, for our Hogsmead trip, and it was then I got my first boyfriend.

---

The first time I saw the scars I asked him about them.

It was during our first heavy kiss I saw the scars.

It was fairly innocent. We were only thirteen, after all. Still shy, still new at that concept. His hands were on my waist for most of it, though sometimes they went to my knees or shoulders, or my jaw. I was the grabby one. His chest, around his neck, pushing up the sleeves of his robes just for a feel of his skin.

"Wait…" I mumbled. "Stop… stop!"

He nearly growled, but didn't stop kissing me. Though I remember he did move to my ear. It's my sweet spot, and he discovered it quite quickly. He must have known what was coming, but cocky as always, he didn't pay it much mind.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

He paused maybe a second. "From that bloody hippogriff, Pans. Now shut up and kiss me."

He nibbled.

I melted.

Now I regret.

---

The first time he winced, I fled.

The first time he showed it was after Easter holidays during fourth year.

I missed him over that period he was gone. Since third year, we'd only gotten closer, especially after the Yule Ball. Naturally, as soon as I saw him enter the Slytherin common rooms, I bounded over to him and practically bowled him over. We tripped trying not to step on Milli's cat, and when we fell, he broke my fall. His hands ended up on my biceps, and when we impacted he squeezed my arms so hard I thought he would break them. His face screwed up in near agony, and once he noticed the whole common room was staring, he shoved me away.

I was giddy from seeing him again, and the whole situation made me giggle. He glared at me as he eased himself onto his elbows, his cheeks scarlet.

"Fuck, Pansy, you need to lose some weight. You're a fucking cow."

This, of course, made everyone else start to snicker and made me recoil like I'd been hit. My cheeks felt wet and I discovered tears streaking down them. At this I wailed, and ran from the common room all the way to Snape's office. He wasn't there. Then I fled to the closest girl's bathroom and I balled like Moaning Myrtle.

It was our first fight.

I realize it was just a defence mechanism of his – to lash out at anyone who made him look weak. At the time I was too mad and too proud to come to the same conclusion. I wonder what it would have been like if I just sucked it up.

---

The first time he collapsed, I screamed.

It was during the summer between fourth and fifth year. I knew the Dark Lord was alive again and so did he, and I guess it must have had something to do with that fact that he was allowed to come over to my house. We'd made up, of course, probably the same time we got assigned to be partners by Snape. I forgave him, but he never gave an apology. But that's okay. I never asked for one.

He made it all the way through dinner with my family and then talking afterwards. Then Narcissa flooed to ask permission for him to stay the night as the Manor was expecting a very important guest. Of course, Mother immediately agreed. We'd done it so often when we were little, and I think she missed the charismatic little boy he used to be. She'd had such little contact with him lately.

It was Father who let him sleep in my room. I have an extra bed, see. I used to share with my sister, and she never got around to collecting her things when she moved out.

I showed him the room, even though he knew where it was already, and then I left for the bathroom to have a quick bath. When I came back, he was face down on the ground just inside the room.

At first I thought he was joking, as we used to play 'pretend' all the time when we were little. Maybe being back in my house after so many years brought out his playful streak. So I rolled my eyes and grabbed some pyjamas to change into. When I came back into the room again, I'd realized my mistake: he didn't have a playful streak. Instantly I was down on the ground, shaking him. He didn't move.

Nearly all of the richer Slytherins have detector-blockers installed in our properties, and the Parkinson estate is no different. I grabbed my wand and brought him back into consciousness. He cursed weakly when he could see straight, then closed in on himself. He tried pulling himself up after pushing me away, but his legs buckled when he was nearly standing and he fell again.

Then I screamed.

My parents had already gone to their room, which has a permanent silencing charm placed on it, so they didn't hear me. But our house elf, Kinny, appeared by my side instantly. Kinny knew I didn't like the sight of blood, that I never had and I probably never will, so she advised me in her gentle, hesitant way that I might want to go down to the kitchen and calm down. I followed her advice, but I kind of just wandered around instead. I guess I was lost in memories of our childhood. My worst fears, after seeing that one, fading purple bruise, had come to light and I couldn't stand it.

I was woken up the next morning by Kinny telling me that Vibs, the Malfoy's house elf, had come by to collect his charge. I didn't even know if he'd regained consciousness or not.

---

The first time he admitted it, I cried.

I didn't see him again until just before the beginning of fifth year, in Diagon Alley. He was sitting in a back corner of the Leaky Cauldron, staring at his drink. I was shopping with Milli and Greg, who during the summer had hitched up, and of course Vincent doesn't go very far away from his best friend, so I contacted Blaise to make it a group thing.

I caught sight of him just when we were about to leave. I faked a 'I forgot something in our booth" and darted back inside. Blaise caught my eye as the door swung shut, and I knew he would cover for me. Then the door shut and I zeroed in on my target. I made a beeline straight for him, pushed his glass away from him, sat down and just hugged him.

He seemed to know I knew. He must have known I didn't understand.

"Pans… I…"

"No. You don't have to say anything."

I just sat next to him and held his hand.

Not long after Tom, the barkeep, waved to catch my eye and tell us he was closing, he pulled away and just looked at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but then quickly changed his mind.

"Why do you let it happen?" I whispered softly.

He shook his head slightly. "I'm smaller."

"You're smarter!"

Then he smiled, the first genuine smile I'd seen on him in a long time. "You wouldn't understand."

"Then help me to!"

He turned to the door to Muggle London and, desperate, I jumped from our seat and clutched onto his hand, desperate tears streaking down my face.

"Please. I can help."

"No you can't," he shook his head again, his wispy, unkempt hair brushing across his face. He took a step away, but paused. "But… thanks, Pans."

---

The first time he cried, I broke.

That February, I gave him my virginity.

It wasn't anything special, and yet it was the most special thing in my life. I'm positive I wasn't his first, but that didn't matter. I was the first that counted.

Greg and Vincent both had detention for terrorizing a couple of first-years. McGonagall caught them and for the past week they'd been gone until ten each night paying up. Blaise was off with his own girlfriend, a new one that week. Some Ravenclaw. I didn't really pay much attention. So in the end his dorm was empty, and girls could go into the guys' dormitories.

There wasn't much of a special lead up, but I think I knew what was going to happen long before it actually did. It began with just a simple make-out session, like the ones we used to have when we first went out. Then his hands pushed my robes away, and my hands undid his trousers. You can probably guess how things progressed from there.

It was after when I saw it. I was just about to fall asleep, and I looked up at him through my lashes. We didn't really care at that point if someone walked in on us. There were already enough rumours going around that I was a whore and he was the Slytherin Sex God. Boarding schools are like that.

The streaks left salty, shiny lines running down his cheeks, and he was just staring up at the ceiling. I rested my hand on his bicep and I realized he was shuddering.

"Draco?" I asked quietly.

He flinched. His eyes shut to try and hide, a defence mechanism. But yet still more tears leaked out.

I reached up around his neck and drew him down to face me. When his eyes never opened, I rested our foreheads together, and drew him up in a tight embrace. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to.

All I know is, those sobs coursing through his body tore my heart up. He never made a single sound, but the force of how his chest heaved and how hard he dug his head into the crook of my neck proved just how long he'd been bottling this up. The thought made me cringe. And I broke a little inside. To this day, I've never found a way to fix it.

---

The first time I caught him trying, I went for help.

It was right after the Halloween Dance in Sixth Year.

Halfway through, I asked him to get me a glass of pumpkin juice because I was feeling a little stuffy from all the dancing. The Weird Sisters had been booked again, and truth be told, they were getting pretty old. Of course it was that Gryffindor slut Brown that had organized the occasion, so obviously she wouldn't have known enough to realize how unpopular the group had become. At least, that was what I was complaining about to a couple Slytherin seventh years, to try and seem important.

It worked.

They were so interested in what I had to say, I didn't even realize he hadn't returned until I overheard a couple Hufflepuffs gossiping about 'the fight between the Golden Boy and the Ferret.'

Instantly I confronted them – what else was I supposed to do? I found out it was actually the Weasel that had gotten physical, and then Granger seemed to see the fear in my eyes and took pity on me. She told me he was probably cleaning himself up in a Prefect's bathroom nearby. I think she got in some trouble from Potter and Weasley for it, because after I heard Brown and Weasley had hooked up and Granger was hardly ever seen after that, besides in the library.

But that's beside the point.

I had to Alohamora the door open, and when I stepped inside I nearly gagged, the smell of blood was so strong. My insides froze and I don't remember walking the short distance around the sinks to where it was all coming from. My mind froze when I saw him, and when I became conscious again – I hadn't fainted, just sort of pushed my mind to the back of my skull – I was in front of Snape's room, knocking slowly and methodically. I hadn't seen him at the dance, so naturally he should have been there, right?

He wasn't.

Shaking, I suddenly sobbed, inconsolable, my hands shuddering. All I kept thinking about was that huge puddle of blood, seeping outwards from his still body, pale hands half-disappeared amongst red. "Fuck!" I screamed. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK! ARGH!!" And then I was railing on the door, kicking and punching and scratching until my nails bled.

And then someone was pulling me away, and I screamed with anger, turning on them. My mind was a whirl, and all I knew was that the person wasn't Draco – too thick in the chest – and if they weren't Draco, I wasn't happy.

"Fuck! NO, let me go! Let me go now, Goddammit! Fucking NOW! Now, now, now… fuck… just – fuck…"

The grasp on me was firm, and no matter how hard I struggled, he wasn't about to let me go. One of his hands was smoothing my hair and had me crushed hard to his chest. Eventually my sobs ceased, and I hiccupped, black robes clenched in my fists.

"Are you quite alright now, Miss Parkinson?"

I froze at the sound of Snape's voice, but I melted when I thought about what had gotten me like this, and tears coursed down my smeared cheeks, though I controlled my sobs. "No," I whimpered. The scene in the bathroom kept flashing before my eyes. "No, I'm not."

There was a wry smile in my Head of House's voice when he spoke again, and I guessed he probably thought I'd just had a spat with Draco. Oh, how wrong he was. "Apparently not so… and neither is my door. What, pray tell, could have brought you to my private rooms when you should be partying with the rest of the school, Miss Parkinson?"

My legs gave out, and I think that was when Snape began to suspect something was wrong. I'd gone to him plenty of times through my school years to fume, or weep, or anything. He was always open to Slytherins, and while the rest of the school may have thought he was evil, he was actually very loyal to the students that respected him. Mostly everyone in Slytherin House had gone to him at some point, because he was rather good at calming us down and giving good (though admittedly very Slytherin) advice on what to do from there.

"Draco…" I cried, and my throat closed. "He's…"

"Draco is what, Miss Parkinson?" I think that's the most panicked I'd ever heard him, and he pushed me back by my shoulders so he could scrutinize my face. "What's wrong?"

"I…"

"What's wrong?!"

"Draco… Draco, he…"

"Pansy, tell me what's WRONG!"

"He's DEAD!" I screamed. "He killed himself… he – I did – and then he was – no…just, no…"

"Where?!"

"Prefect Bathroom. Outside the Great Hall."

Snape made as if to move, but then came back to me as I slid down the wall. "When you're up to it, find Mr Zabini and you two come up to my private rooms immediately."

I nodded mutely, and then he was gone in a ripple of black robes.

A few minutes past; it could have been eternity to me. The Blaise problem solved itself not long after, as he showed up around the bend looking worried. "Pansy?" he called out, unsure at first. As he got closer, he sped up, until he was full-out running, and he slid to my side. "What's happened?"

"Draco…" I moaned. "He – he's gone, Blaise," I said, and my voice cracked.

"WHAT!" he shouted, and pulled me up to him, shaking me. "Did his father come get him? No, the Dark Lord?! Oh God, they did, didn't they… Or… no, no – it couldn't be… did he – no, God no… PANSY WHAT DID HE DO!?"

"HE SLIT HIS WRISTS!" I screamed, and I was sobbing again, my fists hitting Blaise's chest. "He's gone…" I moaned. "He's dead, I saw – all the – all the blood. Blaise, he's – Draco, he's – gone."

"No…" Blaise said shakily, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees, shuddering. "I – I didn't think it'd get this bad. He never – he said he had it under control, Goddammit!" He punched the ground, and then did it again, and soon he couldn't stop, muttering, "Damn, damn, damn," the entire time. His fists were bloody when he finally looked up at me, and his tears matched mine. I was shocked; I guess I never understood the extent of their friendship, but this… Blaise was closer with his emotions than even Draco.

Then suddenly I heard racing footsteps coming this way, and I stood up instantly. I sensed, somehow, that it was Snape, and I needed to see Draco once more. Just once more… one more touch, one more kiss, one more time. Oh God, one more time.

Snape came flying around the corner, and once he saw us he shouted, "Open it!" There was such urgency in his voice one would have had to been brainless not to listen. Blaise scrambled to his feet and flung open the door, just in time for Snape, carrying a bloody body, to race inside. Blaise followed, and, numb, so did I, closing the door behind me.

Then it hit me that the body was Draco's, and if Snape was panicked and rushing around his private rooms, scanning potions with inhuman speed, Draco was probably alive, for at least a few more minutes. I don't remember approaching the table he was laid out upon, but I do remember being shoved out of the way when Snape came back, arms full of potions. Draco looked awful, with his skin so ashen it was translucent, and his eyes sunk so low into his skull he already looked dead. The lines on his wrists were nothing more than jagged, pink scars, healed by Snape, but he still wasn't waking up.

Snape ordered me and Blaise out of the room, but Blaise had to literally drag me out, kicking and screaming. When the door finally closed in my face, I fainted. I guess I'd had enough excitement that night.

I woke up in the hospital wing. Draco wasn't in the bed next to me.

---

The first time I saw him again, I accused.

I went flying down the corridors the next morning, without getting the clearance from Pomfrey. I crashed into the Weaslette on the way down, and she was with someone but I didn't look back to see who it was. My mind was too panicked to think straight. I had no idea what to do, or what I was going to do when I got there. All I knew was that I had to find out. I had to.

Snape's door was locked. I Alohamora'd it open, and I didn't care how much trouble I'd get for breaking into a professor's private rooms. No one was in the main room, so I crashed into what I presumed to be Snape's bedroom, and there they were – Snape, Blaise, and an unconscious – but alive – Draco Malfoy.

Snape stared at me, but Blaise quickly lost interest.

"Miss Parkinson? Why are you not still in the hospital wing? You had quite the scare last night."

I don't know why, but that comment sparked an anger in me I've never felt before. "'Quite the scare?' 'Quite the scare?'!! The most important person in my entire world nearly DIED last night, Snape. Died – as in DEAD. Forever. You have no idea what I was feeling last night, and don't you ever try to sympathize with me when you – when you - !" Curse it all to pieces, but I started crying again, and I slumped to my knees. Snape made as if to come closer, but I waved him away. "You knew this would happen, didn't you Professor?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He sounded angry, but I didn't care.

"You knew that Draco would get hurt like this."

"I did not!"

"You did too!"

"Miss Parkinson, I highly suggest you–"

Blaise suddenly stood up, his face uncharacteristically blank. "Then why is Draco not in the hospital wing, Professor Snape?"

Snape made to reply but stopped himself, gritting his teeth. I latched on to this reaction. "It's because you knew Draco was being abused at home, isn't it? You knew Lucius Malfoy was pushing his son so hard to become the perfect little lackey for Voldemort, so hard he nearly killed him on a daily basis." I kept on going, even when I knew Snape was dying to say something. Blaise slowly sat down next to Draco, but was listening keenly to what I was saying. "You knew not being able to please his father was ripping Draco apart. You knew something like this would happen. Now why the _fuck_ didn't you _do_ anything about it?!"

"Why didn't you?" Snape shot back. I recoiled like I'd been hit, and it sure as hell felt like I had.

I marched up to Snape and slapped him. Hard. Harder than I'd ever slapped anyone before, and that was saying something. He wasn't expecting that, and he stumbled backwards. "If this is what Death Eaters end up being – if this is how Death Eaters truly care for those they love," I gestured to Draco, "then I swear, I will _never_ become one, and I'll do everything in my power to stop Draco from ending up in that ugly snake _freak's_ hands." Then I stomped over to Draco and draped myself over him, crying.

---

And that's how I renounced Voldemort.

You can trust me. Please, you have to trust me. Draco's life depends on it.

---

Right from the moment you stood up against Potter and Weasley for me, the night Draco tried to kill himself, I knew I could trust you. I earned a respect for you for doing that. I'd heard that even though your falling out with those two lasted quite a long while, until nearly the end of Sixth Year, you still joined the Order last summer. All through the rest of last year, and especially once Draco healed, my views changed completely. I used to think all muggleborns were the filth of the earth – I'd been taught to, and it was all I knew to be absolutely true in the world.

I want to tell you that you probably saved his life that night, by telling me where he went. You were the one that saved his life – and suffered the most for it. I'm sorry I never came to you that year, when you were alone without your boys. If I ever lost both of mine – Draco and Blaise – I don't know what I'd do.

So now I'm asking for your help again.

Draco's been taken. He had been staying with me and my mother in our Summer Villa. She accepted that I didn't want to become a Death Eater, but my father didn't. Blaise is safe – both his parents wanted to protect him, so they sent him to Canada for the peace. But my father… he – he blinded my mother. I don't know what spell he used, but he meant to use it on me. So we fled and barred the Villa from all visitors, but somehow something went wrong. Draco's father used some sort of spell on him – you know how he escaped prison the end of Sixth? – and it was slowly killing Draco. So one day, I guess the agony got too great. Draco left the protection of the Villa, and is now in Voldemort's hands.

They're going to kill him.

I need your help.

---

The Death Eaters have taken over Azkaban. Obviously you probably know that already. But that's where they're holding Draco, and that's where I'm heading. It's funny, this love thing. You'll do everything to save the person you love.

This is where you come in, Granger. I need your help after – I'm not about to ask you to risk your life for us. I need you to just – just take care of Draco after the fact. I'm going to get him out, but I know he'll need medical attention, and after the Death Eaters swarmed St. Mungo's, there's no where for us to go. I've made a portkey to Godric's Hollow – I figure it'd be the last place Voldemort will look for us. I'm not asking you to take him to the Order's headquarters, or even wait around until he's healed completely. Just – just make sure he won't die, okay? That's all I ask.

Don't ask about me. My future's unknown. But Draco has to survive. He has to.

On November 15th, I'm moving in. Please be at Godric's Hollow. Without you, Draco would have died last year. Without you, Draco might die this year, too. Please save him. And if I don't get the chance, tell him I love him, too.

Thank you – for everything.

Pansy Parkinson

---

------

---

Hermione Granger stared at the letter in her hands, mouth agape.

"Hermione?"

She glanced up, and both Ron and Harry were looking at her worriedly. Their expressions were devoted, even in this time of war. They were her best friends, and she wouldn't change that for the world. She'd go to the ends of the earth for them.

She made up her mind. She'd leave after nightfall.

It was November 14th.

---

Godric's Hollow probably hadn't changed at all since that fateful October night all those years ago. Dust was heavy in the main room, and Hermione blocked off the stairs leading up to the second floor, never once entertaining the idea of seeing where her best friend's parents had died. She cleared out the living room and sanitized it with some quick spells, then transfigured the couch into a hospital bed. She set up all the tools she may need, including potions, bandages, gauzes, lotions, and a few more muggle means of healing on a stainless steel tray she spelled to hover. She lost her robes and wore jeans and a tight t-shirt so she didn't have anything to prevent complete freedom of movement, and then sanitized what she wore several times over.

At about one o'clock in the morning she was finished with indoor preparations and moved outside. Several high-powered wards were placed up, against physical entry, against apparition, it would track portkeys, and anyone who tried to enter – magical or muggle – would be turned away with a severe urge to urinate.

Everything was in place. All Hermione had to do now was wait.

---

------

---

Dear Ron, Harry, Ginny… oh, blast it – Dear the whole bloody Order

I'm not going to tell you where I am right away because I know you won't approve, but do know that I am safe. Very safe, so don't come looking for me or I'll hex you. And don't go to my parents, either, because I've told them as much as I've told you, and you really don't want to make fools of yourselves without me to bail you out, right?

At the moment, I'm taking care of someone who was an important person in the life of a friend of mine's. Not a good friend, mind you. I'd known her for seven years, but I didn't really know her, you know? Until just recently, all of us had thought she was an active Death Eater, but I want to tell you right away that she wasn't. She was a hero.

I know you're probably going mad with confusion right about now, Ron, so I'll just come out and say it – that friend of mine? It was Pansy Parkinson. That person I'm taking care of? It's Draco Malfoy.

Now don't try to hunt me down, alright? I'm going to explain.

Two nights ago, I received a letter from Pansy, and in it was detailed the events that led up to her renouncing Voldemort. It also had some interesting pieces about Malfoy's home life. And before you accuse me of being overly-compassionate and too forgiving, know that I am all that AND paranoid. I checked the letter for everything – forgery, hexes, codes, you name it. I even used this spell I'm developing to seek out lies on paper. The only thing she lied about was how much she loved Malfoy. Whoever said Slytherins can't love – I have a feeling it was you, Ronald – was very, very wrong. If you don't believe me, read it yourself – I left it under my pillow, though I took out some information concerning my whereabouts.

I'm going to cut this letter off short, right here, because of two reasons: one, I want you to read that letter before I go on; and two, Malfoy's fever is really, really bad.

Don't look for me.

Hermione

---

Hello Again

Hopefully Pansy's letter calmed you down. You really should have read it before sending a reply, Ron. But that's okay. I forgive those things you said about me.

On the night of November 15, Draco Malfoy was portkeyed from Azkaban Island to where I'm staying. His injuries were severe and extensive, and there were trace amounts of suffering potions in his system. It looked like he'd been tortured for a long time, and he was very near death. He'd also just seen the woman he loved killed before his very eyes in order to save him. It was also the last thing he will ever see.

Pansy Parkinson will be remembered as a Hero of the Order if it's the last thing I do.

I'm not going to go fully into the technical stuff, but Draco probably isn't going to make it. But I'm not going to give up hope, because a dead girl's last wish was for her lover to live on, and I'm going to try my damnedest to fulfill that wish.

But I'm attaching some information I found on Draco's person, in Pansy's very last letter. It details the best way to infiltrate Voldemort's headquarters on Azkaban, the defences to get past, and all of the Death Eaters Pansy had ever known, along with key information about them. This list also includes her own father, so I'd bet my head that all of it's true. There's more, though. Basically everything the Order could ever need to take down Voldemort is in that letter. Pansy will be a hero.

Accept that, and accept that Draco is _completely_ unmarked, and maybe I'll tell you where I am.

Hermione

---

------

---

Hermione jolted awake from her deep, exhausted slumber, disoriented and confused, and not a little peeved. It was the first time in nearly a week that she'd settled down in a real sleeping area, and although her muscles screamed at her to lie back down, she couldn't help but worry at the sound that had woken her. Rushing, she slipped on a housecoat and walked quickly down the hall from the dining room, where she'd transfigured the table into a bed, and entered the living room.

"Draco?" she called quietly.

There it was again; a ruffling of cloth, a keening whimper. She darted towards the hospital bed she'd laid him out upon and barely contained a shriek at the empty bed. Sheets had fallen to the ground, trailing away. Following them, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, Hermione found her patient sprawled by the fireplace, trying to pull himself along by his one relatively good hand.

Hurrying to his side, Hermione kneeled down and gently placed a cold hand on his bare shoulder. He flinched back, and Hermione lit up the lamp on the mantle.

"Draco! Draco, it's me. It's Hermione," she whispered lowly.

Behind bloodied bandages, blind eyes sought her out. "Granger?" he rasped. "Why…"

"Shh… don't talk," she soothed. She picked him up and gently pulled him into her lap, and bit her lip at his body temperature. Five days, and the fever had only gotten worse. "You're here because Pansy brought you here, remember? She wrote me to ask me to take care of you."

"Oh…," he replied. It was a long while before he spoke again, but the shivers making his frail body shake made his voice hitch. "Granger, it hurts. Why… does it… hurt?"

Tears began to prick at her eyes. Ever since regaining consciousness after the first night, he'd asked her the same question. Her books told her it was because of shock; her instincts told her it was because he couldn't comprehend it. "You-Know-Who is mad at you, Draco. He did – bad things to you."

"What kind… of things?"

She held him closer. "He tortured you, Draco. He used the Cruciatus, he used Sectumsempera, he used potions, and devices, and many curses." The diagnostic had also mentioned a different sort of torture, but after Hermione returned from emptying her stomach, she knew she couldn't tell him. "He hurt people… people you know."

"Mother?"

"No," she replied, her voice strangled.

"Blaise?"

She could only shake her head and offer a weak negative sound, and began rocking them back and forth.

"…Pansy?" He sounded terrified; he always was, every single questioning.

"Yes..." Her voice broke, and the lump in her throat became too big to talk over.

Urgent, he repeated, "Pansy's hurt?"

"No, Draco. Not anymore. She – she's at peace now."

He always struggled, so Hermione tightened her hold on him.

"No," he insisted. "Pansy can't – she can't!" His shivers turned into sobs. "No… she was – I can't…" Had he still had eyes, Hermione thought his tears would never end.

So she cried for him, cried with him. She lived for him, just as he would learn to live for Pansy. They did it for them, because they couldn't do it for themselves.

---

The fever was eating him from inside out. A day before, Draco didn't wake up from his slumber. Hermione was sure he was going to see his love at one point in the night. He wouldn't wake, but his screams tore from abused lungs and throat. His demons plagued him in the night, and Hermione was helpless to stop them. His wounds began festering, his scabs refusing to take form. He cried out, he yelled.

Finally, at daybreak on the seventh day Hermione had been caring for him, he went limp.

Numb, Hermione staggered to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Calmly, she picked up her mirror and looked at her reflection, of eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, of sunken skin, of straggly hair. Then she threw the mirror to the ground and smashed it, and wiped the vanity clean of all of her products. She tore down the curtains on the tub, ripped the towels from their racks, and finally threw a fist into the larger mirror on the back of the door. The pain jolted her back into her right mind, and she collapsed to her knees, cradling her trembling hand to her chest.

She stayed like that for a long time, tired and worn. Only when the sun was high in the sky did she emerge, and she headed straight for the living room, prepared to give a proper burial. Pansy would have liked it if he were buried among heroes, the last sacrifices of the First War.

Her wand fell with a clatter when she rested her eyes upon his face.

He was awake. And he was aware.

He never cried again.

---

Weeks passed. He got steadily stronger, able to eat solid food. He took everything with a brave face, though Hermione still heard his nightmares. She never asked him about them. They didn't talk much.

Hermione continued her letters to her friends. Eventually she asked for books to read, and she read them to him. Their conversations aside from these exchanges were always about the War, and about Voldemort. He was bent on revenge for Pansy, and Hermione swore she'd help him. They never said it aloud, of course, but they learned to accept each other's company.

When word came that the Order had taken back St. Mungo's, they never considered separating. When Hermione went out for supplies, Draco learned to walk again. When she came back, he'd show her his progress, and every time, she would chastise him for being so reckless as to do so without her. But she always walked to the kitchen with a private smile.

Three months after Pansy's sacrifice, Narcissa Malfoy was found dead in her home.

Hermione taught Draco how to traverse the house without her and without his eyes. A discovery came when Hermione accidentally dropped her wand at Draco's feet, and he bent to pick up the object, not knowing what it was. There was a ripple of power, and suddenly Draco swore he could see again, in pulses of magic.

She bought him a wand the next day.

They were practicing duelling by February.

---

------

---

Hey

I'll meet you at King's Cross, Platform 3, at nine in the morning on March the second.

Draco will be with me. He'll be joining the Order.

-Hermione

---

------

---

They became partners.

Their first bust was on a wand-maker supplying Death Eaters with extras under threat of torture. Draco took Polyjuice and took the man's place, who was placed under Order protection. Together, they took down eighteen Death Eaters the first time, and their legendary partnership began to shine.

They were both excellent researchers. Hermione took the libraries and Draco hit the streets. They were both perfect schemers. Draco planned the largest possible busts. Hermione planned to trap them and protect innocents. They were both expert executers. Draco was sneaky and devious, and quicker with a wand than anyone, and his opponents didn't expect much from a blind man. Hermione knew more spells and hexes than all of them combined, and all of her opponents underestimated a slight frame and a pretty face.

They guarded each other with their lives. Draco had a debt to pay. Hermione would sooner die than break her promise to Pansy.

They were beginning to fall.

They went down fighting.

---

After the Order allied with nearly all magical creatures, especially House Elves, which proved to be substantial fighters, Voldemort staged a final battle. He massed all of his troops in Hogsmeade, of which the actual town was long since burned down, and on August 31, he stormed Order headquarters, which had moved to a closed Hogwarts.

It would have been a bad move, considering the Forbidden Forest's inhabitants, except Voldemort had a trump card – one of the two creatures left that hadn't joined forces with the Order was the Vampire, and they ravaged nearly all that came in their path. The other was the werewolves, and the two oldest magical creatures in existence on one side was terrifying. They wiped out the first string of fighters, and only the Dragon Riders – one of whom was Charlie Weasley – to take them out. After the epic battle, only one dragon came back, and he was riderless. But the battle did not go without success. The Vampires had retreated to their home countries, convinced Voldemort wasn't their way out of exile, and the only werewolf that was left after the fight was Remus Lupin, who was killed the next day.

In the end, it came down to Voldemort's right-hand circle and Harry's – with two surprising additions, of Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Where Hermione and Draco were a sight to behold, Draco and Blaise fighting side-by-side was terrifying. They left no man standing, and those alive were taken out by the rest of the crew. This included aurors Tonks and Shaklebolt, the only two remaining, Ginny, Bill, Fleur, Neville, Fred and George, Luna, and Arthur. Snape had died three weeks earlier, his true colours known only to him, and his death marked the last fall of the last of the Hogwarts Staff.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron went straight to Voldemort.

Instantly the wands connected, as was expected. Thus it was that the Sword of Gryffindor and the Sword of Slytherin came to blows.

Hermione and Ron kept the Death Eaters from interfering, but a sickly pus-yellow curse from Bellatrix Lestrange sent Ron flying into the Black Lake, where he skipped and rolled to a stop on the other bank, unmoving (It would take three years for Ron to fully regain use of his left arm). Lucius attacked Hermione, sending her to her knees with a spell Hermione didn't hear or see. As 'Avada Kedavra' took shape on aristocratic lips, a body rammed into Lucius' torso, sending him flying. Hermione, the curse still ravaging her body with shudders and a metallic tang in her mouth, was vulnerable and Bellatrix took her chance.

And then Blaise was there, casting the killing curse with well-practiced ease. He nodded to her, and Hermione gave him a smile as she stood shakily, the pain making her dizzy. He understood, and mouthed, "Go," or he might have said it, but nothing was heard over the din of war. Ginny was suddenly at his side, and she shouted something in his ear. He nodded, and they surrounded Harry and Voldemort, setting up the guard that Hermione and Ron had failed to keep.

Draco was sprawled out on the grass when Hermione caught up to them, and Lucius was pointing his wand at his own son's chest. The green light burst forth from the tip of his wand, and Hermione screamed, and uttered the same curse.

Something like pain tore through her chest, but Hermione hardly made sense of it as the green light hit Draco's chest, and the curse caught up to her, her world fading into oblivion.

---

They fell.

They fought no more.

---

------

---

I'm peaceful, here, you know. I've been watching you. I've seen what you've been doing.

Thank you, Hermione. You saved him like I never could.

You deserve him more than I ever did.

So I'm going to give you two one more chance.

You've been saving his life ever since that first day you stood against all you believed in to help me.

It's my turn to save you both.

---

------

---

Awareness filtered into her mind like fine sand through an hourglass. They awoke peacefully, and when their eyes opened they met each other's gaze.

He paused, and broke the contact. "Granger, I–"

"Shh…" she whispered. "You don't have to say anything."

"No, I do." His eyes – his eyes! – were hard pieces of slate. "I think… I'm allowed to love you, now."

She smiled lazily. "Why now?"

"My father killed her, you know. When you killed him, she was – free."

She nodded. "I think she wants us both to be free, too."

He smiled. "Yeah. I think she'd like that."

---

The first time she saw the bruises, she soothed them away.

The first time she saw the scars, she made them fade from sight.

The first time he winced, she forgave him.

The first time he collapsed, she helped him get back on his feet.

The first time he admitted it, she smiled and said, "I understand," and he believed her.

The first time he cried, she kissed his tears away.

---

Voldemort retreated from his fated Final Battle to wither away in his castle on Azkaban Island. Because of the most important document in the history of the war, from the hand of Pansy Parkinson, a select group of talented individuals infiltrated the impermeable stronghold and by morning, the Wizarding World was free of Voldemort's shadow.

Pansy Parkinson was recognized as the most respected martyr since the Potters, and was honoured with an Order of Merlin, First Class.

Her epitaph read as follows:

_A Girl Who Gave Up All_

_To Save One and All_

_First Love and First_

_Hero_

_She Will Be Missed and_

_Cherished Above All_

_Pansy Parkinson_

Nine months after Voldemort's fall, a child came into the world.

Her name was Pansy Jane Malfoy-Granger. She was raised in a quaint little house on the ocean, and her parents loved her more than anything else in the world.

She was considered the First.

First love.

First child.

First free.

---

And an angel with a pug-nose and round face looked after them all with a smile.

_fin_

_---_


End file.
